Scorched Earth Policy
by GiftedGal
Summary: After two years of living in the Maze, outside the safety of the Glade, Ghost is finally free...right? Nope, turns out WICKED isn't done with them yet. The game goes on for Ghost and the Gladers, this time in the harsh, burned landscape of the Scorch. And as the Gladers struggle to survive, Ghost begins finding clues about her mysterious past. Sequel to "What Lurks in the Maze".
1. Chapter 1

**It feels weird to be here, actually writing the sequel. Anyway, thanks for deciding you liked the first one enough to read this one! It means more to me than you know.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the 'Scorch Trials', my dudes.**

That night, I dreamed of darkness.

 _The world around me was pitch black, and I was unable to see a thing. My glow wasn't working. The ground was hard and cold underneath my feet. All around me, I could hear screams, Griever moans and shrieks, but it was all as if from far away. I began to hear people calling my name._

" _Ghost, help me!"_

 _It was Thomas, I was sure of it. I ran towards where I thought his cries were coming from, but they never seemed to get any closer. Unable to see, I tripped over something and fell to my hands and knees. Thomas's screams for help got louder, and others joined his voice. Minho. Newt. Teresa. Clint. Chuck._

 _All of them were begging for me to help them, as the Griever sounds got louder, and all the voices were coming from different directions. They sounded so far away. No matter how much I ran, I never seemed to be getting any closer._

My eyes flew open, and I stared up at the bed above me, chest heaving. I was still reeling from the nightmare, so it took me a few seconds to realize I wasn't alone in the room. I heard them first, but then my glow kicked in and I could see them in the pale blue light.

Two of the people, a man and a woman, wore lab coats and dark pants, while the others, maybe there were four of them, were dressed like soldiers, weapons strapped across their backs. Their faces were covered, goggles over their eyes. The two scientist-looking people in lab coats were bent over Teresa's bed. One of them had what looked like an oxygen mask pressed over her mouth and nose.

"Teresa!" I shouted, making all heads turn towards me. Stupid? Maybe, but I needed Teresa to wake up. Sure enough, Teresa's eyes flew open, widening, and kicked and struggled to get away from the two people standing over her, wrenching away from the mask.

"What the—" one of the soldier cried out, in a gruff older man's voice. "Grab them!"

The soldier nearest to the door snatched Teresa's arm as she tried to run, pinning her arms behind her back and holding her in place. Teresa fought against them weakly, but seemed dazed. I wondered if it had something to do with whatever they had been making her breathe.

With the exit blocked, I leapt up out of bed and onto the top bunk of the bed to my left, trying to reach my machete before I was inevitably caught. I was about to dig into the mattress to retrieve it, cursing myself for hiding it do well, when a hand wrapped around my ankle in an iron grip and yanked me to the floor with a _thud._

The soldier pinned me like Teresa, but I kicked back at them, driving my foot repeatedly into their knee.

"Restrain her!" the older man commanded, and the last remaining soldier came to my captor's aid. Their combined strength was too much; I was forced to my knees, one of them leaning almost painfully on the backs of my shins and the other holding my arms.

Teresa cried out my name, trying to get away, only for her captor to cover her mouth with a gloved hand, muffling her voice.

"There was only supposed to be one of them!" one of the soldiers, the one who had my legs secured, said. His voice was male, and he sounded young.

The one who was holding my arms grunted. "What's with her skin? She's not radioactive is she, Captain?" It was a woman's voice this time.

"No, not exactly. This is the little lab rat who ran away a couple years back," the older man, apparently the captain, said, grabbing my chin. I wrenched my jaw out of his grasp, growling and attempting to bite him. He pulled his hand away quickly. "Found her way into the Maze."

"How is she even still alive?" The first soldier, the young man, asked, disbelieving and sounding almost in awe.

"Doesn't matter," the soldier holding my arms snapped. "What do we do with her, Captain?"

The man stared at me in silence for a moment, and for a second I could see his eyes through his dark goggles, cold and unfeeling. Then, he said:

"Kill her."

" _No_!" Teresa's shriek was preceded by the pained cry of the soldier holding her, the dark-haired girl having bitten the hand over her mouth.

"Sedate her!" The captain roared, pointing angrily at Teresa. "She was supposed to be unconscious during transfer."

I strained against the people holding me while the Captain grabbed the oxygen mask from the scientists and pressed it to Teresa's face himself, turning up the dial on the canister.

"Oh, wait, not that much!" One of the scientists, a woman, cried as Teresa's eyes rolled back and she fell unconscious. The captain ignored her while the soldier holding Teresa dragged her body from the room, and whirled back around to me. The captain crouched down to be at my level.

"Nothing to say, little girl?"

I glared, and the man pulled up his mask, his now exposed face smug at my silence. I grinned widely, and confusion furrowed his brows.

"Go to hell," I said, and spat in his face.

The man's face contorted in fury, wiping his face with a gloved hand in disgust. Smug satisfaction gave me the courage to stare defiantly into his eyes, even as he raised his gun and pointed it at my head.

"Stop!" If it weren't for my advanced hearing, I wouldn't have heard the voice, which seemed to echo from inside the soldiers' helmets. The captain lowered his weapon immediately, bringing his free hand up to his ear.

"But sir—"

"Leave the girl alive. That's an order."

The captain didn't look happy about that order at all, but he didn't argue with the voice in his earpiece.

"What do you want us to do with her, sir? Take her to B?"

"Negative. Knock her out. Oh, and Captain Singh?" The voice paused. "Make sure to take away her bioluminescence."

Captain Singh brightened marginally at that, motioning one of the labcoated individuals to come forward. The woman approached, taking out a hypodermic needle and a bottle of dark orange liquid from the bag at her side. "Yes sir."

I struggled back, but the soldier woman holding me grabbed my arm and forced it still as the scientist injected the orange solution into my arm.

I watched in horror as, from the point the needle was inserted, my glow began to go out. The darkness spread, leeching the blue color and light from my skin. With my glow dying, my vision was fading away. However, I still managed to see the smirk on Singh's face before he slammed the butt of his gun into my head and the world plunged into darkness.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

To say Minho woke up in a bad mood would be a tragic understatement. He had gone to bed thinking he might finally be somewhere safe, and had woken up to see that taken away.

There were bars on the windows of their room that he hadn't noticed the night before, but he was glad for them. Because those bars were the only things keeping _them_ out.

The glass of the windows had been broken from the outside, and there were people clawing at the bars and screaming. Minho was hesitant to call them people, because they were horrific, covered in boils and sores and open wounds that were clearly infected.

Thomas, who had been sleeping in the bunk below Minho, woke up and was staring at one of the people, a man with a nasty slit on his cheek who screamed: "I'm a bloody crank! Kill me, kill me, kill me!"

Minho hopped down from his bunk and put a hand on Thomas's shoulder, making the other boy jump.

"They're everywhere," Minho said solemnly, staring in disgust at the man in the window who was still shrieking the same sentence over and over again. "And there's no sign of the shanks who rescued us."

Minho thought of Ghost and Teresa. He didn't like that the girls had been separated from the rest of the group, though it didn't surprise him. The runner really wished they were here now, because he had no idea where they were or if they were safe. Did their room have windows and people too? Did their windows have bars? Or had they been left vulnerable?

Not knowing was killing him.

Minho pushed those thought to the back of his mind and focused on Thomas, who was talking.

"Do all the windows have these bars? Have any of them gotten in?"

"No, or we'd probably all be dead. And yeah, all barred. Didn't see 'em last night through those stupid frilly curtains."

Thomas nodded. "Where's Newt?"

"Here," Newt said, walking up from the side. Thomas turned to look at him.

"What's going on?"

Newt crossed his arms. "Think I know? Bunch of crazies want to eat us for breakfast by the looks of it." He looked around at the windows. "We need to find another room to have a Gathering. All this noise is driving nails through my buggin' skull."

"We should find Ghost and Teresa," Minho said as he and Newt approached the door. "Make sure they're ok."

Minho was filled with a driving need to protect her, which was absolutely absurd. Ghost could take care of herself; she was one of the strongest people he knew. Plus, he knew she wouldn't appreciate the sentiment. She hated being thought of as weak, as someone who needed to be protected. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling.

"Good idea," Newt said, and Minho reached for the brass doorknob and jiggled it fiercely. It was locked. "Here, let me."

Minho raised his eyebrows but stepped aside, and Newt tried at the door for a while before stepping back.

"It's locked," Newt muttered, and Minho crossed his arms in annoyance.

"No, really?" He rolled his eyes. "No wonder you were named after Isaac Newton—you're a shuck genius."

The blond Glader had gotten used to Minho's smart-ass comments, so he said nothing, instead ordering everyone to find something to break the handle. The room was so loud, with everyone skittering about and the Cranks screaming on top of it all.

"I wish those shuck Cranks would shut up!" Minho snapped loudly, glowering at the nearest one, a bloody woman. Frypan looked at the keeper of the runners curiously.

"Crank?"

"That's what they call themselves. Haven't you head it?"

Newt made an agitated sound, glaring. "I don't care if you call em' pussy willows. Just find me something to break the shucking door!"

Danny, the curly-haired, pale-eyed boy who had worked in the Gardens in the Glade, came forward and handed Newt a bright red fire extinguisher. Newt took it and slammed it down on the handle with a resounding _crack._ In three hits, the handle fell to the floor and the door cracked open just enough to reveal total darkness beyond.

"Let's go," Newt said, stepping forward, but was stopped by the dark-haired cook.

"Wait, are we sure we want to go out there?" Frypan asked. "What if that door was locked for a reason?"

"What, and stay in here with these crazies?" Minho shook his head. "I think not. Besides." Minho kicked the door open. "You should've said something _before_ we blasted the lock to bits."

"I hate it when you're right," Frypan muttered as the Gladers stared out into the dark; somehow opening the door hadn't brightened it in the slightest.

 _Damn right_ , Minho thought to himself. Then, he said: "Shuck it, I'll go first."

The runner stepped out into the suffocating blackness, shuffling his feet a bit with each step and feeling out in front of him carefully. He couldn't see a shuck thing, and the common room smelled _horrible._ He tried to remember where he'd seen the light switch last night and head in that direction.

Suddenly, something met his outstretched hands, something stiff and covered in what felt like cloth. It swung back and forth when Minho ran into it, like a pendulum hanging from the rafters.

"Whoa!" Minho felt his way around whatever it was. "Careful, guys. Something…weird is hanging from the ceiling."

From somewhere behind him there was a short screech of metal being dragged across the floor, followed by a grunt from Newt.

"Watch out for tables," the British Glader announced.

Frypan's voice rang out: "Anyone know where the lights are?"

"Where I'm headed," Newt said, and Minho made a disgusted sound as he ran into another one of the hanging things. "Here it is!"

Minho was temporarily blinded by the sudden burst of light, raising his hand to cover his eyes. When he blinked the light spots from his vision, he let out a cry of shock when he saw the scene around him clearly.

The things that were hanging from the ceiling were bodies.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Minho had seen bodies before.

He was one of the original Gladers; he'd been there since day one. He'd been there when the first boys ended up dead when they found out the Maze was populated by Grievers, mechanical monsters that wanted to kill them. He was there when that kid had tried to rappel down the Box hole and had gotten sliced in half. He had been one of the ones to find the bodies of Gladers that had been banished or trapped in the Maze overnight, mutilated all to hell and barely recognizable.

These bodies, _the people who had rescued them,_ his mind supplied, were not bloody or deformed. Their faces were blue and their tongues lolled out, and that was somehow more disturbing.

Minho made his way over to Newt and Thomas, cursing under his breath. Thomas had his eyes closed and his face screwed up. Newt asked him what was wrong, and Thomas made a noncommittal gesture to the bodies around them.

"You looked in pain."

"I…I was trying to reach Teresa. Ya know, with my mind. But I can't."

Ah, right. Thomas and Teresa had a telepathy thing going on. Honestly, it wasn't the craziest thing Minho had ever heard, but it was still weird. Thomas continued, looking troubled.

"We have to find where they put Teresa, and Ghost."

"He's right," Minho called. "Spread out, find them!"

Thomas made a beeline towards the far side of the room. "Might've already."

Minho looked towards where the runner-in-training was headed. There was a yellow door with a brass handle, and that's when Minho saw the figure sprawled on the ground outside the door.

Minho rushed forward, the others close behind him. It was Ghost, her blonde hair spread in a messy halo around her face. Her chest rose and fell steadily; she might have been sleeping peacefully if not for the ugly purple bruise on her forehead.

"Ghost!" Minho sank to his knees and cradled her face in his hands, brushing a few strands of her hair back. "Ghost, wake up."

Clint crouched down beside the unconscious Glader across from Minho. Newt and Thomas hovered around them too.

"She was hit with something heavy," the Medjack observed, pointing to the bruise. His expression darkened. "And that," he pointed to a small circular wound on her arm. "Looks like a needle mark. She was injected with something."

 _What happened to you?_ Minho thought, inspecting her sleeping face, wishing those dark green eyes would open.

"We need to find Teresa." Thomas said worriedly. "She could be in trouble."

Newt passed Thomas the fire extinguisher. "Your turn to break a buggin' door handle."

 **I hope you enjoyed this. Chapter 2 should be up Friday, but probably later at night depending on if I wrangle my sleep schedule (unlikely).**

 **Question of the Day: Do you have pets? If so, what kind?**

 **My answer: A dog named Dash and an aquarium.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, I'm horrifically late. What else is new? Junior year, man. Chaos incarnate.**

When Minho and a few of the others pushed through the now broken door, Teresa's room was empty, and there was only one unmade bed. Thomas's face scrunched up in confusion.

"This is supposed to be her room." Just as he said that, a toilet flushed from inside the bathroom. Thomas made his way to the door.

"Whoa there, Tommy. I know you're used to living with a bunch of boys, but it's not polite to go stomping into the bloody ladies room. Wait for her to come out," Newt said, leaning against one of the bunk beds. "Here, Minho, bring her over here."

Minho laid Ghost gently on top of one of the mattresses, propping her head up on some pillows. Though hesitant to leave Ghost, he volunteered to go back outside and fetch the other Gladers. Stepping past the yellow door, the disgusting smell of the bodies hit him full force for a second time.

He gagged reflexively at the stench, crossing the room and weaving in between bodies. Minho tried to avoid looking directly at any of them. "You shanks get over here! Why are you all still out here?"

The rest of the Gladers were gathered around the door to their room, some inside with the Cranks, some outside with the bodies. _Pick your poison_ , Minho mused to himself. _Possibly cannibalistic crazies or human chandeliers._

"Did you find Ghost and Teresa?" Winston asked from where he was standing against the doorframe. The Gladers all hushed their conversations and focused on Minho, anticipating his answer.

"We found Ghost, but she's unconscious. And we think we might have found Teresa."

"Unconscious?" Frypan raised his eyebrows.

"What happened?" Danny asked.

"Think we know?" Minho shook his head. "Get your butts up and over to the other room. Ain't any Cranks or dead body stink over there."

"Thank God," Max, a fellow runner Minho had known for a long time, said as he got to his feed, his pet newbie Winn following in suit. Minho led the group of Gladers across the commons to the only other open door. There was a set of double doors, but those lead outside into Crank land and the handles had been wrapped in chains and padlocked several times. No way out.

When Minho reached the open yellow door, however, he did not find Teresa inside with Newt, Clint, and Thomas. Instead, there was a third boy; in the same flannel pajamas they were all wearing, with olive skin and very short dark hair.

Once Minho recovered from his surprise enough to speak, he said: "Who's that guy?"

The boys in the room all looked over to where Minho and the rest of the Gladers hovered outside the door. Thomas smiled thinly.

"Minho, meet Aris. Aris, meet Minho."

"I…who…what?"

"Look," Newt said, cutting off any onslaught of questions. "Let's take down all these top beds and move them around the room. Then we can all sit and figure out what's bloody goin' on."

"No, not until we find Teresa," Minho heard Thomas say. "She must be in another room."

"There isn't one."

"What?" Thomas asked, looking at Minho. Minho shrugged, repeating himself.

"There isn't another room. I checked the whole place out. It's just the common area, our dorm, the bathrooms, and some seriously shucked doors leading outside. And this are chained and padlocked from the _inside._ "

"That…that can't be right," Thomas blinked and shook his head. "I mean, the food we ate last night? That had to have come from somewhere."

"Maybe there's a hidden door," Newt suggested. "We can look closer later. Right now we should all just sit and-"

"No!" Thomas demanded. "We have all day to talk to Aris. We need to find Teresa. She could be in danger!"

Without giving anyone a chance to reply, Thomas slipped out the door and back into the commons. Newt sighed, brushing his hair from his face. He seemed tired.

"He'll calm down," Minho said, clapping his oldest friend on the shoulder. "Can you blame him? Everyone knows he has the hots for Teresa."

"And you'd know all about that," Newt muttered under his breath, amused.

Minho blinked. "What's that, shank?"

Newt grinned slightly, but his eyes were still weary. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Damn right," Minho huffed as he helped the rest of the Gladers do as Newt instructed, dismantling the bunk beds and spreading them out so everyone had a place to sit. When Thomas returned, he grabbed a spot next to Minho, near Ghost and Clint, who was staying close to the unconscious Glader. Newt began to fill Minho and the others on the situation at hand and this 'Aris' character.

"So, wait. Lemme get this straight," Minho shook his head. "You," he pointed at Aris. "Come from a giant maze, this one of all girls. You started off in a coma and triggered some shuck 'Ending'?"

Aris nodded. "Yep, that's about it. We escaped a few days ago. The people who rescued us kept us in a big gym until last night, when they moved me here and you sticks showed up."

Thomas frowned, tilting his head slightly. "…Sticks?"

"I don't even know," Aris shrugged. "It's just something the girls in my Maze say."

Minho huffed a laugh and shared a look with Thomas. It appeared that both groups had come up with their own slang words. In all honesty, Minho wasn't even sure how most of their words even came about. Someone mispronouncing a swear word or something, and everyone thinking it was the funniest thing ever and using it jokingly for a while, until it actually became the Glader lingo.

"So it's the same experiment," Minho said. "Or whatever. WICKED built two different Mazes, one of boys and what was supposed to be one girl, and one of girls with one boy. They ran two different tests."

"Could you…" Thomas spoke up. "Could you talk to one of those girls with your mind? Ya know, like, telepathically?"

Aris' eyes widened and he stared at Thomas, who stared back intensely. Minho realized with a start that they were talking to each other; a conversation only they could hear.

"What's going on?" Newt asked, glancing between the two boys. "Why are you staring at each other like you just fell in love."

"He can do it too," Thomas murmured, not breaking eye contact with Aris.

"Do what?" Frypan asked, baffled.

"What do you think?" Minho said, crossing his arms. "He's a freak like Thomas. They can talk in each other's heads."

Newt raised an eyebrow. "Serious?"

"Who killed her? What happened?" Thomas demanded aloud, talking to Aris as if he hadn't heard Newt. Minho blinked rapidly.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Who killed who?" He sighed. "No more of your voodoo klunk while we're around. We have to use our actual words here so, so do you."

Thomas turned to Minho, his eyes glassy and filled with panic. "He said he had someone he could do this with too, just like I did. I mean…like I do. But they killed her. I want to know who _they_ are."

Finally, Minho understood the source of Thomas's anxiety and where his train of thought was going. If WICKED had killed Aris' telepathy partner, and Teresa was now missing…had they done the same to her?

"I don't really know who _they_ are. It's all so confusing, and it's hard to tell the good and bad guys apart. But somehow, they made this girl—Beth—stab my friend, Rachel. She's dead, man."

Aris pressed fists to his eyes, taking a deep breath, while Minho was deep in thought. The parallels were too strong to ignore. Maze kids gone wild, made to kill one of his or her own group members…did that mean Teresa was supposed to have died instead of Chuck? Or was it not so choosey? Were all their deaths just planned out for them?

While Minho was rethinking his existence, Newt was still relentless in his questioning, grilling Aris on everything: how many girls escaped, how he got here, where the others were now, the works. Aris just rubbed his face and didn't answer.

The tension in the room was palpable. Suddenly, Ghost shot up, making everyone in the room jump. Minho nearly had a heart attack.

"Teresa!" She shrieked, panicked. "Teresa!"

Before anybody else, Newt rushed over and grabbed her shoulders, crouching down to be eye level with the girl.

"Ghost," he said, as she struggled against his hold. "Ghost, it's us!"

Ghost stilled at that, cracking an eye open. "Newt?" She sighed in relief, looking around at the other Gladers. "Thank God it's you guys. I thought-" the panicked look returned to her face. "Teresa! They took Teresa!"

Thomas stood abruptly. "Who took her? What happened?"

Newt held up his hands. "Everybody calm down. Ghost, tell us what happened."

Ghost sighed, running her hands through her blonde hair. "I was sleeping, but I had a nightmare. I woke up, in the middle of the night, and there were…people. People in masks; some of them had strange guns. They took Teresa, and they were going to kill me. But something…someone…told them to stop. They knocked me out instead."

The blonde girl looked around the room, across the faces of the Gladers, like she was doing a mental tally. Her shoulders relaxed as she caught sight of Minho and Thomas, as well as Clint and Danny. Her brow creased, though, when her eyes landed on Aris. "Who the hell are you?"

 **Short chapter, I know. But this one's pretty much just a filler chapter, as I didn't have a ton to add to it. Next shall be better.**

 **Question of the day: What's the weirdest thing you've ever eaten?**

 **My Answer: I ate honey on a pickle yesterday. It was good for some reason, and I don't have any explanation.**


	3. Chapter 3

**See, told you this one would be longer.**

The boys spent the next few minutes filling me in. Apparently, if you're unconscious for a few hours, you miss a lot. Who knew? However, they seemed relieved that I was awake, so, that's good. My head still hurt though.

I got to my feet, albeit somewhat shakily, and pointed to one of the beds. "Where's the top bunk to that bed?"

A boy raised his hand, pointing to the bed he and his friends were sitting on. I made my way over, my steps a little staggering.

"Ghost, what are you doing?" Clint asked. "You should rest."

"Have to check something first," I insisted as I crouched down and pulled the sheets up off the side of the bed, revealing a slit in the mattress. I reached inside the cut and felt the leather grip of my machete, pulling it out and cradling it in my arms like a baby. Minho whistled.

"Smart," the Runner commented. "I thought they took all the weapons."

"I guess they did too," I said with a smirk as I sat back down on my bed as Clint was insisting. "So, Aris, riddle me this," I addressed the new boy once I was seated, placing the machete on a nearby dresser. "These hooligans try to lock you in prison while I was out? I'm trying to keep a record."

Aris laughed, shoulders slumping as he relaxed some. "Nah, not yet."

The Glader who was sitting next to Aris sat up straighter, leaning over to look at the nape of Aris' neck, which his shirt had previously covered. "Hey, what's that on your neck? It's a line of black, right there."

Aris looked startled. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

Newt crossed the room towards the new boy. "Here, let me have a look." Aris turned around and Newt pulled down the back collar of Aris' nightshirt. "It's…a tattoo?"

"What does it say?" Thomas said. Newt didn't reply; his eyes squinted curiously as he read the words over. Minho and Thomas walked up to the blond's side to get a look. I tried to follow them, but my head throbbed and Clint shook his head at me, pushing me gently back down to sit on the bed.

Danny frowned at me, concerned. "How do you feel?" He asked.

"My head hurts. Other than that, I'm okay. I think we're all a little sore, though."

"Amen to that," Clint muttered, rubbing his left shoulder. On the other side of the room, Aris was saying: "What does it _say_? I swear it wasn't there last night."

"It says: **Property of WICKED. Group B, Subject B1. The Partner**." Newt recited aloud. "WICKED? I thought we'd escaped them. Or you had, too. Whatever." Visibly frustrated, the blond Glader turned and walked back to his own seat, muttering to himself.

"Why does it call you 'the Partner'?" Minho asked Aris, who shook his head.

"No clue." The olive-skinned boy looked even more confused than the rest of us. "I swear I didn't have it last night; I took a shower and looked in the mirror. I would have seen it. And someone would have noticed in the Maze for sure."

"So, what?" Minho scoffed. "They just tattooed you in the night without you knowing?"

"I swear!" Aris insisted, before slipping into the bathroom to see for himself. Minho shook his head and muttered something undoubtedly snarky to Thomas as they were walking back over to us.

"Whoa!" Thomas exclaimed, and I looked over to see what had startled him. My eyebrows shot up. With the way Minho was sitting, it was possible to see a dark smudge of letters on the nape of the Runner's neck. "You've got one, too!"

Minho's, as it turned out, read: **Property of WICKED. Group A, Subject A7. The Leader.** He scrambled off to the bathrooms after Aris, wanting to see for himself, and the chaos began.

The Gladers went around tugging down each other's collars, reading tattoo designations aloud. For the most part, it was an unorganized mess, with the exception of Newt, who went around to each boy systematically, looking like he was memorizing each one.

Danny plopped down in front of me. "What's mine, Ghost?"

I reached for his collar and read the words printed on his skin. Danny's had no extra title, just the property line and numbers. "You're Group A, Subject A-fifteen." I recited. "Do I even have one?"

Danny got up to check my neck for a tattoo. "Yeah, you've got one too. It says…that's weird."

"What?" I asked as Newt walked up to us. "What does it say?"

"Well, apparently, you're…Group C?"

Newt's eyebrows shot up. "A third Maze trials?"

I shook my head. That wasn't right, I could feel it. "No, I don't think so. Don't ask me how I know, I just…know. It's not a Maze; it's…ugh, something else. Can't remember."

Newt leaned over to see for himself. "What's the rest?"

"The full line is: **Property of WICKED. Group C, Subject C3. The Runaway.** "

I mulled that over silently. "I guess it makes sense. I came from somewhere else within WICKED. We already knew that." I looked up at Newt. "What's yours?"

"I'm A5…the Glue." He made a face when he said it.

"The…Glue?" I repeated, trying not to laugh. Danny masked a chuckle with a cough. Newt glared, unamused.

"Yeah, according to Tommy I'm 'the Glue that holds us all together'." He rolled his eyes. "Sounds like a load of klunk to me."

"You're our knight in shining armor, Newt," Danny smiled slyly. "Admit it."

Newt opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a thunderous, clanging alarm. I cried out, gritting my teeth and covering my ears. In the back of my mind, I recognized this sound; I'd hear it all the way from the Maze once a month. It was the bell that rang every time a new Glader was coming.

"It's the bloody Newbie alarm!" Newt yelled to Thomas, who had appeared beside us. Thomas nodded, yelling back that he knew. Minho and Aris emerged from the bathroom; Aris looked mildly freaked but Minho looked more annoyed than anything. On one side of the room, Frypan was going for the door, trying to get it open, but it didn't budge.

As suddenly as it began, the awful alarm stopped, leaving a buzzing in my skull. Thomas rubbed his ears, and Newt sighed.

"Don't tell me we're still having Newbies thrown at us," he complained.

"Where's the Box in this place?" Minho huffed sarcastically, crossing his arms and heading for the door. As he approached it, it creaked open several inches, revealing pitch-black nothingness beyond.

"Well that's not ominous at all," I muttered. Minho stopped in the doorway.

"Maybe we'll have a new little shank to pick on and kick in the butt when we got nothin' else to do." His words were not reflected in his demeanor; there was something odd about it, lacking his usual chill attitude. His voice became uncharacteristically soft, and his eyes held an odd look when he said: "We could use another Chuck."

The remark caught me off-guard. I knew, from the tone of his voice and the sorrow in his eyes, the Glader was expressing his own sense of loss, in his unique Minho way. My chest stung numbly, like pressing on a bad bruise or burn wound. Thomas's face contorted briefly, before he stepped up to join Minho at the door. Despite Clint's protests, I followed.

"You going out or do you need me to go first?" Thomas asked. Minho didn't answer, that same troubled look on his face as he asked quietly: "What does your tattoo say?"

"Doesn't matter," Thomas replied in a tone that didn't fool me for one second; it absolutely mattered. I made a resolution to make him tell me later. Or attack him in his sleep. Whichever came first. "Let's just go."

"Good that," Minho said, and the troubled look vanished abruptly, the usual Minho returning. "If a zombie starts eating my leg, save me."

"Deal," replied Thomas.

"I charge extra for zombies," I said. Minho snorted and pushed the door open. The light in my dorm room did absolutely nothing to illuminate the darkness beyond.

"Wait here, you two," Minho said. "I'll go find the light switch. No need to play bumper cars with the dead folks again."

My eyes widened and my jaw dropped. " _The what_?"

Thomas looked over at me. "Oh, you never saw! Well, just a warning, there's, ah, there's dead bodies hanging from the ceiling in here." He said, biting his lip. "It's gross. You can go back in the room if you want?"

Bodies? From the ceiling? _Jesus, what nightmare have we been dropped into this time_? I thought to myself, shaking my head. "I've seen bodies."

Minho, who had already traipsed into the darkness, called out, "Here they are!"

There was a click, and the room was filled with light. I raised my eyebrows.

"So…where are the bodies?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So, you're telling me that this place was full of the hanging corpses of the people who rescued us?" I asked. "And that your dorm had crazy 'Cranks' screaming and trying to get through barred windows? And now it's all just…gone?"

"Even the smell," Thomas said as he and I sat on the sidelines of the Common Area, while he filled me in on everything that had happened. "And the windows in our dorm are bricked over from the outside, as you already saw."

I nodded, trying to wrap my head around this. "Honestly…it's not the craziest thing we've been through. Perhaps the most random." I paused. "Have you tried reaching out to Teresa?"

Thomas nodded, face dropping. "I finally got her…but she didn't seem to know who I was. She said if I didn't leave her alone, she'd kill me." He sighed. "I'm scared for her, Ghost. What if they wiped her memory again or something? Or worse?"

I stayed silent, as I had no answer, and only squeezed his hand in mine. I suddenly thought back to what Minho had said. "What does your tattoo say, Thomas?"

He stiffened, but slumped again with a sigh, before turning around to show me his nape. Written there, in the same black font, was: **Property of WICKED. Group A, Subject A2. To be killed by Group B.**

My breath caught in my throat. _No,_ was the first thought in my mind. _I won't loose you too. Please, not you too._ "Don't you worry about that, Thomas," I said, my voice absurdly calm. "They're not going to hurt you. Over my dead body."

"Please," Thomas laughed without a trace of humor. "Don't say that."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A few hours later, with everyone going stir-crazy, and everyone hungry but no food in sight, Newt suggested that we all congregate in what was my dorm to sleep. Extra mattresses had been dragged over from the boy's dorm. Despite the windows being bricked over, no one wanted to sleep over there. Plus, safety in numbers and all that jazz.

The second Newt hit the lights I was plunged into darkness. I waited for my glow to appear.

But it didn't.

"Oh," I muttered to myself. "Oh, no."

"Ghost?" Thomas asked. "What's wrong?"

"Look at me!" I nearly shrieked. "I…I'm not glowing. They did something to me. Injected me with something. And I'm not glowing anymore!"

"O-ok?"

"Thomas, I can't see!" I snapped.

"Calm down, Ghost." Newt's voice came from somewhere to my left. "You've been a long time without being in the dark. You'll get used to it."

I took a deep breath, trying to fight down the rising panic in my chest. I couldn't see. _I can't see, I can't see, I can't see._ The words repeated in my head unbidden. I had never missed my glow more than in that moment.

"Ghost, it's okay," Minho said. "Your eyes will adjust. Just give it a minute. None of us could see at first either."

I nodded, pulling my knees to my chest and willing myself to relax. I knew I was freaking out a bit, but I couldn't bring myself to be embarrassed. Someone decided to think less of me because of it, well; I'd just have to kick their butt later to remind them.

The thought helped me divert my focus and calm down but after ten minutes, when I still couldn't see any better, fear began to win out. I gripped my hair tightly with my hands, tugging hard as if to snap me back to my senses. It didn't work.

"I still can't see!" I moaned. I could hear Minho, Thomas, and Newt shift in their spots, and I heard someone get up and cross the room, but I couldn't see it happening. It was just black. There was a dip in my mattress.

"Ghost, it's Clint," he said. "Can you see my hand?"

I turned my head from side to side, looking around. "Nuh-uh."

His worried frown was practically audible when he said, "It's only a few inches from your face. Your eyes should have adjusted by now. Can everyone else see fine?"

The chorus of 'yes' and 'yeah' around the room did nothing to soothe my growing anxiety. If anything it just served to make it worse. Clint spoke again.

"Can someone hand me a flashlight?" A Glader handed him one and he clicked it on. Relief blossomed in my chest as the light illuminated my surroundings. Clint covered the end with a thin sheet before shining it in my face. I squinted a bit at the brightness, but it wasn't unbearable. After a few seconds, he covered the light with the quilt, dimming it greatly, pointing it in my face all the while. The remaining faint light was clearly enough for him to see by, but I could barely see a thing.

Clint repeated the process again. When the flashlight was covered with the sheet, I could clearly see the concerned faces of my friends. When the quilt covered it, I could only see the vague, abstract outlines of their bodies.

"Your pupils won't expand." Clint said, pointing the light at the ceiling. He was frowning deeply.

"What?" Thomas said, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Well," Clint turned to look at him. "Pupils are what let light into the eyes. When the amount of light in an area lessens, the pupils expand to take more in and help you see. That's what your eyes adjusting is."

Minho sat up a little straighter. "And Ghost's pupils won't do that?" Clint shook his head. "What does that mean for her?"

Clint ran his hands through his hair. The hair tie that usually held it back was around his wrist. "It means that, in the dark, she's effectively…blind."

 **And now you know what purpose her glow serves. How she got it…you'll find that out later *wink*. Anyways, please review. I thrive off your validation.**

 **Question of the Day: What's your favorite band?**

 **My Answer: The Killers**


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter is dedicated to a guest named Beth, whose comment motivated me to get off my lazy ass and finish this chapter. Beth, you're the real MVP!**

I tried for a couple of hours to get to sleep, squeezing my eyes shut and pretending all was well, hand clutching Thomas's tightly as I tried to calm my raging heartbeat. Finally, I gave up, snatching a blanket and pillow and walking out of the room. I walked out across the main common area, footsteps echoing lightly, until I reached the boys' dorm. I left the lights on as I settled into one of the beds. Eventually, I drifted off into a restless sleep.

I woke a few hours later feeling awful. My stomach was growling painfully, my body sore and scraped from the strain of those last few days in the Maze, and my internal body clock was all turned around without any way to know the time.

With not much I could do about the first two predicaments, I went off in search of someone with a watch so I could settle the third. A runner named Max informed me that it was about 5:30 am, which helped my mood somewhat.

While wandering around the space, investigating every inch, I found Minho and Newt sequestered in a back corner, arguing quietly.

"What are we supposed to do? We've got no food, and no way out!"

"I'm telling you, Minho, something will happen. They won't just leave us here to starve! Not after all the trouble they went through."

"Newt, how do you know this is even still WICKED? We saw the Creators die, remember?"

"No, it's still them. I can feel it."

"Newt's right," I cut in, making both their gazes snap to me. "The tattoos, the disappearing bodies, switching Teresa for Aris? This klunk has 'WICKED' written all over it." 

Newt nodded. Minho crossed his arms and muttered something under his breath about 'never getting away from those bastards', but he didn't disagree.

"The real question is," I continued. "What's next?"

"For now, we wait." Newt said, though he clearly wasn't pleased by the idea. "Something will happen, and when it does, we'll bloody deal with it."

"Good that," Minho and I agreed in unison. _And so,_ I thought to myself. _It begins._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

News alert: being hungry sucks.

Going into everyone's third day without food, everyone was sleeping a lot, to try to distract themselves from the gnawing pain in their stomachs. I made sure to drink plenty of water, as did everyone else, trying to settle our stomachs in lieu of food.

 _How can humans survive 40 days of this?_ I wondered to myself in one of my waking periods, knowing that even though it felt like I was starving, it would actually be a few more weeks before any of us dropped dead.

In mid-afternoon of the third day, I got up from my bed in the girl's dorm. The majority of the boys had moved back into their original dorm, since it was the bigger space, while I slept in the smaller dorm with a few other boys who didn't mind the lights being on 27/7. So far, I had been avoiding entering any dark place, trying to ignore the reality of damaged sight. I crossed the threshold into the commons, heading for the bathrooms, when I stopped in my tracks at what I saw.

 _Is hallucination a side effect of hunger?_ I asked myself, wracking my brain for an explanation for the sight in front of me.

In the middle of the room, a man was sitting at a desk.

He was wearing a completely white suit, which was pristine and pressed. His feet were propped up and crossed on a large wooden desk. In his hands, he held an open book. Thinly rimmed glasses perched on his pointed nose as he read.

Several feet to the man's right, a large pile of food had been dumped haphazardly on the floor. My mouth watered instinctually at the sight, but I resisted, keeping my eyes on the man in case he made a move.

"Guys," I called over my shoulder. Surprisingly, the man made no indication he heard or cared what I said. "Guys, wake up. You gotta see this."

"Ghost," Danny came up behind me. "What is i-who the hell is that guy?"

"What the shuck?" Max whispered, standing at my other shoulder. I shrugged, and he stepped around me. "Who are you?" he called to the man.

Slowly, the other boys in my room, Clint, Winston, and Winn, came to see what was going on. Winn made a move for the food, but I held him back, shaking my head. _Not until we know it's safe._ I thought. _It could be a trap._

At first, the man ignored us. Then, he sighed, checking a watch-like device on his wrist and speaking into it with a nasally voice that totally matched his weasel-like face. "The subjects have noted my arrival. Proceeding with Phase 2 in 55 minutes."

"Subjects?" Max repeated angrily, approaching the desk. "You shuck-faced bastard-"

Once Max got a few yards from the man and his desk, it seemed like he hit a wall where there was none, and he went flying back, hitting the ground with a thud.

"Max!" Winn darted past me to crouch down next to the Runner, helping him back to his feet. "Are you okay?"

Max nodded, rubbing his shoulder. "Ugh, yeah. It's like…a glass wall or something. I didn't see it."

The man made an annoyed sound. "I said I will begin in 55 minutes, so if you will please be patient until then. Eat, why don't you? You've been generously given this time to replenish yourselves."

Cautiously, we made our way over to the pile of food. Clint snatched a couple apples, humming in delight as he bit into one.

"I'll go get the others," he said through a mouthful of apple. I nodded, grabbing something for myself. _So hungry,_ my body complained, but I forced myself to eat slowly, and reminded the Gladers to do the same. It wouldn't do to be throwing this all up because we ate too fast.

As I munched on some kind of juicy citrus fruit, I walked a circle around the man. I couldn't get closer than ten feet at any point in the room, always meeting a very solid barrier. However, no matter how close I looked, I couldn't see anything; just empty air. I briefly wondered if it was my eyes, but the others assured me they couldn't see anything either. Eventually, I just sat down and enjoyed the feeling of food in my stomach as my energy returned.

The other Gladers started emerging from the other dorm room. Minho grabbed an apple, laying down on the floor and eating the whole thing.

"If you eat too fast," I reminded him pointedly. "You'll just throw it back up. Your stomach has been a while without digestion."

"Believe me," Minho said in between bites. "I was aware. So, what do you think the deal is with the Rat Man?"

"No clue really. Also, Rat Man?"

Minho shrugged. "He looks kinda like a rat, don't he?"

I rolled my eyes as he discarded the apple core before picking up three more. One he bit into, the other two he took into the dorm with him. A couple minutes later, the Runner emerged with Thomas in tow; the newer Glader eating the apples Minho had brought him.

I returned my attention to the food, picking out a package of trail mix and ripping it open. A few feet away from me, Max looked up and called out, "Careful!"

I turned to where Max was looking just in time to see Thomas walk right into the invisible barrier, stumbling back a few steps and rubbing his nose. The Rat Man, as Minho had so lovingly nicknamed him, sighed in annoyance.

"How many times do I have to repeat this?" he said, letting his feet drop to the floor and using his finger to save his page in his book. "We still have 47 minutes before I've been authorized to implement the second phase of the trials. Please show your patience and leave me alone. You've been given this time to eat and replenish, and I strongly suggest you take it, young man. Now if you don't mind…"

With that, Rat Man put his feet back on the desk and continued to read, brushing out any wrinkles in his stupid white suit.

Thomas blinked, dumbfounded, and Minho directed him over to the mound of food, giving him a little shove. I waved him over to where I was sitting.

"Good morning," I greeted as he sat down, reaching into the pile and pulling out an orange. He checked his watch as he began to peel the fruit.

"It's almost 3 o'clock in the afternoon." I waved him off, tossing another handful of nuts and raisins into my mouth. Thomas paused. "How are you doing, by the way?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, tilting my head questioningly.

"With, you know…your eye thing?"

Ah. That.

"It's not so bad," I said slowly. "As long as no one turns out the lights." I meant it to sound like a joke, but I guess it didn't, as Thomas frowned worriedly.

"Ghost-"

"I'm fine," I said. "Really, I am."

 _Am I, though?_ I asked myself. It's true; while I was in well-lit areas it was easy to forget about it. Once, however, I had turned off the light in the bathroom, just to see how I'd react. I was okay for a couple seconds, but the longer I spent in the dark with no glow and no way to see, the more my calm deteriorated into terror. I'd had to flip the lights back on after not even a minute to stop myself from having a full-blown panic attack.

Thomas fixed me with pleading eyes. "It's okay, you know. To be afraid of the da-"

"Just drop it," I snapped, avoiding his gaze. Max and Winn, who were sitting within earshot of Thomas and I, glanced over before continuing to talk. _How stupid I must look,_ I thought. _I've survived blood and death and Grievers and the Maze, and here I am, terrified of the dark like a small child._

Thomas sighed as he continued to eat. "Okay. It _is_ okay, though." He added, before finally dropping it and changing the subject.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When 47 minutes was up, the Rat Man dropped his book and pulled a large folder out of his desk, flipping through it silently. At this point, all of the Gladers had stopped eating, enjoying a full stomach for the first time in days, and had gathered into a group. Minho sat to my left, our shoulders almost touching. Thomas was on his other side, and Newt on my right, all of us facing the invisible wall and the stranger sheltered behind it.

"I think we've all gone crazy, like the buggin' Cranks in the windows," Minho muttered to Thomas, Newt, and I. "We're all sitting here like we're in kindergarten waiting for our teacher to read us a story. Tell you what—if that shank had anything good to tell us, he wouldn't need a freaking magic wall to protect him."

"Just slim it," Newt muttered back. "And listen. Maybe it's over."

Minho snorted quietly. "Yeah, right. And then Winston'll get rid of his monster acne, Ghost's gonna turn into a Griever, and Thomas here'll actually smile for once."

I chuckled, and Thomas leaned past me to give Minho an exaggerated, too-wide smile. "There, are you happy?" 

"Dude, you're one ugly shank." Minho said, not without mirth.

"I wish I could turn into a Griever," I said to Minho. "We could use those snippy appendages they have to cut Newt's hair."

Minho snickered, flicking the ends of Newt's hair, which almost brushed his shoulders.

"Bloody shut up," Newt whispered. "I think it's time."

"All right," the Rat Man said, looking up from the folder to address us. "Thank you for gathering in an orderly manner so we can get this done. Now, as I've been instructed to tell you, you-"

"Why do you need that wall?" Minho called, cutting the man off. Newt punched his shoulder and shushed the Runner.

Rat Man continued as if Minho hadn't said anything. "You are all here because of you're uncanny ability to survive, despite the odds being against you. Of the sixty sent to live in the Maze— _your_ Maze, that is, we'll forget about Group B for now—only a fraction lived to be here today.

As I'm sure you've gathered, many of the things that happen to you are solely in place to see how you respond—that's what we're doing. Less of an experiment, more…making a blueprint. Stimulating the killzone and using your reactions to build a map, one that will lead to the biggest breakthrough of science and medicine in history. What we—what _you_ —are doing here, may very well save the human race."

"This guy's even more shucked in the head than us," Minho whispered to me. "How's escaping a rat maze gonna save the human race?"

"Really big thing of cheese?" I whispered back with a shrug.

"I represent a group called WICKED," Rat Man continued. "It sounds ominous, but it's merely an acronym, for: World In Catastrophe, Killzone Experiment Department. We exist for one purpose only, to save the world from catastrophe. We have resources never had by any organization of the past; near limitless money, limitless human capital, and technology beyond most people's dreams."

At his words, I felt a sudden rushing sensation in my head, then a furious pounding. I gripped my head in my hands. Everything he said sounded so… _familiar._ As if I'd not only heard it before, but lived it. My skin ached suddenly, under a barrage of phantom needle pricks, and my back felt cold, as if pressed against chilly steel. The faint sounds of monitors beeping drifted in my ears. It all felt so far away, but somehow so real.

It took me a moment to register a hand on my shoulder. I looked to see Minho staring back at me, dark eyes wrinkled in concern. "Ghost, what's wrong?"

"Your memory block must be reacting to my words," Rat Man said, looking straight at me. Unlike the woman when we'd first escaped, or the soldiers who'd taken Teresa, Rat Man didn't look angry or annoyed by my presence. Instead, he rubbed his chin, looking curious. "How interesting. Your mind can't remember anything, but your body remembers the sensations. Very interesting, indeed."

I grit my teeth as the feelings subsided, and the pounding in my head faded. "What did you do to me?" I demanded.

Rat Man waved me off. "It's no longer relevant what your purpose was in the past, C3. You see, every Variable that was factored into Phase one of the Maze Trials was carefully calculated to provide killzone patterns. All except for you, that is. It took a little recalculating, but the Director decided that you would prove an interesting addition, and could provide valuable data from your own killzone." 

_Killzone._ That word stuck out to me, not just because of its sinister-sounding meaning, but because I recognized it. I know I did. I just couldn't remember what it _means._

"Speaking of which, my advice to you all would be this: as you continue with the Trials, remember that you can never, ever, believe your eyes. Or your mind, for that matter. That is why the hanging bodies and brick wall were included, to demonstrate that not everything you see is real. When necessary, we can manipulate your brains and nerve receptors."

That last statement caused a din of whispers and mutterings. The Rat Man leaned forward, putting his hands flat on the desk.

"And I know that sounds confusing, even a bit scary, but all things have and will happen for a reason. This has been Phase One of the Trails, and we are still quite short of what we need. Therefore, it is time to begin Phase Two. It's time for things to get difficult."

A spark of anger flared in my chest. _Does he think that the last two year were just a cakewalk for us?_ I thought, irritation growing, but I pushed it down in favor of listening to what the man had to say about what would be coming next. We could use all the information we could get.

"Your memory block prevents you from remembering the outside world," Rat man said, lowering himself back into his seat. "But sun flares have ravaged much of the Earth. With it came a sickness unlike any mankind has ever encountered—a virus called the Flare. Every government in the world—those that survived, that is—focused on combining their resources into one organization, WICKED. Though it may seem that we have merely been testing your ability to survive, I assure you it is much more than that. We are searching for a way to stop the virus, and you have every incentive to help us do that because, sad to say, you all already have it."

The noise level in the room rose, but the man raised his hands.

"Now, now, no need to get worked up! The virus is slow to take effect and start showing symptoms. And, when you are done with the Trials, the cure shall be your reward. You'll never have to see the…debilitating side effects. Not many can afford the cure, you know."

I was suddenly reminded of the woman who'd lunged at Thomas as we were getting on the bus with our supposed rescuers. Her lacerated skin, her messy appearance, and her wild eyed brimming with madness as she shrieked. I shivered slightly.

"Now, enough with the lecture. We know you—it doesn't matter what I say or what our mission is. You'll all do whatever it takes to survive, and in doing what we ask, you'll get the cure so many people want."

Rat Man picked up a paper from his folder, clearing his throat and reading allowed: "Phase Two: the Scorch Trials. It officially starts tomorrow morning at 6 o'clock. Upon entering this room, on the wall behind me you will find a Flat Trans. It will look like a shimmering grey wall. You will all pass through it before five minutes after the hour. All those who go through will have two weeks to find open air and go 100 miles north through the Scorch and receive the cure. Any who stay behind will meet a most…unpleasant death. Do you understand?"

When his question was met with silence, as all the Gladers absorbed this information, the man sighed impatiently. "I know you can all _hear._ Do…you…understand?"

I nodded; as did most of the rest of the Gladers. A few muttered yeses.

Rat Man nodded, satisfied, and shut the folder, organizing the papers back neatly before shoving it back in the desk. He straightened back up and addressed the teens gathered before him. "It's simple, really. There are no rules, no guidelines. You have little to help you. Make it to the safe haven 100 miles north to receive the cure. Make it or die."

Suddenly, a barrage of questions erupted from the group, spurred on by the fact that the man's speech seemed to be coming to an end. Rat Man stood impassively, clearly not deigning to give them any answers; instead his eyes roamed over the group, examining each Glader. His gaze strayed on me longer than the others, that same curiosity glinting for a moment, before he locked gazes with Thomas, whose face was neutral with the exception of his eyes, which flared with hatred.

"You shanks be quiet!" Minho called eventually. "He ain't answering, so you might as well stop wasting your time."

Rat Man nodded to Minho, like he was thanking him. "100 miles North. I hope you make it. Remember—you have the Flare now. Reaching the safe haven means reaching a cure. Good luck."

Rat Man turned away and began walking towards the opposite wall. He'd only taken a couple steps before the wall thing protecting him clouded over, whitening into a blur. Then, the whole thing disappeared, clearing back up to reveal no sign of Rat Man or his desk or his chair.

"Well shuck me," Minho muttered dryly.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After Rat Man disappeared, the common room dissolved into arguments and questions and gossip. Thomas disappeared immediately, and Minho followed him a few minutes later.

The next few hours were rather chaotic as a plan was formed. Spare sheets were stripped from beds and formed into packs to carry the uneaten food, which Frypan had immediately put himself in charge of to make sure it wasn't all eaten. Empty plastic packages from eaten food were filled with water and tied with strips of shredded curtains. Once all the water packages were made, I confiscated all the leftover cloth material to serve as bandages for any injuries, soaking them in steaming hot water from the showers and leaving them to dry before packing them away.

It was decided to wake at 5 am that morning, one hour before the designated departure time, so every Glader with a watch set their alarm and headed to bed at nine pm, giving ample time to rest up. Provided anyone could actually sleep, that is. Luckily, the Gladers were used to sleeping despite facing dangerous circumstances.

That night, I slept restlessly for a couple hours, before waking with the need for the bathroom. I sat up in bed, looking around at the beds scattered across the room. Clint was sleeping in the bed closest to the door, Winston in the adjacent bed. Danny was sleeping in the bed to my right, barely visible under blankets pulled up to his eyes. Max and Winn were sleeping in the back corner, their beds pushed to be closer together. A glance at a sleeping Max's watch told me that there were still several hours until wake-up; it was just past midnight. I slipped into the bathroom quietly, as to not wake my sleeping roommates.

As I exited the bathroom a couple minutes later, my ears pricked up as I heard a faint tapping sound coming from outside the door. To anyone else, it would have been inaudible. I leaned around the doorway, searching for the source of the noise. What I saw surprised me.

Minho was sitting in the common room, his head against the wall, his legs pulled up to his chest. The fingers of his right hand were drumming lightly on the floor. His brow was furrowed as he stared off into space, clearly deep in thought.

"Minho?" He turned his head to look at me as I approached him. I sat down next to the dark-haired Runner. "You should be sleeping. Are you okay?"

"I don't know how to do this, Ghost," Minho said, hands clenched in his lap. "I don't know how to lead them."

Ah yes, that. After the Rat Man had left, Newt had convinced Minho to take position as the official leader of the Gladers. Minho had argued against it, claiming the title should go to Newt, but Newt refused on the grounds that the WICKED tattoo on Minho's neck tagged him as the leader. Eventually, after a day of badgering, Minho had finally accepted.

"Yes you do," I said calmly, remembering our escape from the Maze. When Newt had ordered Minho to take the lead, there had been an immediate change in him, in both demeanor and attitude.

"No!" Minho protested, throwing his hands up in the air. "I really don't! I'm no leader, Ghost."

I grabbed one of his hands in both of mine and pulled it back down. "Minho, listen to me," I said, urgently, turning to bodily face him. He shifted his shoulders to face me more fully. "You can do this. I _know_ you can do this. I'm sure of it."

"How?" Minho's voice was quieter this time, almost shaking. The Runner's mask of confidence and snide humor had fallen away, and for perhaps since the first time since I met him he looked every bit the 16 year-old boy he was, frightened and scarred by horrors no one, regardless of age, should have to endure. He squeezed my hands tightly. "How are you so sure?"

"I've seen you," I said. "When we fought the Grievers and escaped the Maze, while we were stuck here, when Rat Man appeared. You take charge, and people follow you. They listen. And you sometimes don't even realize you're doing it. No matter what you think, you're the best one for this, Minho. If you don't trust yourself, then trust me. I say you can."

Minho stared silently at me, then sighed and slumped back against the wall. "Okay," He said. His head tilted back to make contact with the wall, eyes trailing to the ceiling, but our hands stayed grasped firmly together.

"I do trust you, Ghost," He said softly, after a few prolonged moments of silence. "I want you to know that. And…thank you."

I smiled lightly, turning to sit shoulder to shoulder with him. "No problem. And, I trust you too."

Another stretch of silence passed before Minho spoke again, quietly. "I'm scared, Ghost."

I sighed, leaning my head to rest on his shoulder. I tried to ignore how my heart skipped a beat or two at our proximity.

"I'm scared too."

Minho snorted dryly. "So much for bravery, huh?"

"Bravery doesn't mean not being afraid," I said. "It means doing something even though you're afraid."

"Who said that?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "Probably someone a hell of a lot smarter than us."

Minho laughed, and I did too.

The Runner checked his watch. "It's 12:30. We should get some sleep before tomorrow." I lifted my head off his shoulder as he stood. He extended a hand to help me up, which I accepted. "Can I sleep in the light room with you guys?"

I snorted at his name for my room, which indeed always had the lights on. "Yeah, of course. We've got a couple extra beds, but Danny might have stolen the blankets." I warned.

We crept quietly back into my dorm, careful not to wake the others. Indeed, Danny had snatched the blankets from the few empty beds, cocooning himself in them like an overgrown caterpillar.

"Slinthead," Minho muttered, without malice. I chuckled quietly as I pulled off the black-haired boy's topmost blanket and gave it to Minho. He settled down in the empty bed to my other side. He gave my hand one final squeeze before we both drifted off to sleep, anxious for what morning would bring.

 **I made this chapter almost twice as long as it might've normally been as an apology for being away. I hate writing chapters where there's just a lot of exposition (like the Gatherings in WLITM or Rat Man's lecture) because a lot of you already know all this and I don't want you to have to reread junk you already know. At the same time, it's a dilemma because the Scorch Trials is where things really get different from book to movie, so movie watchers are reading something VERY different.**

 **Reviews motivate me, as always.**

 **Question of the Day: What do you like to do on vacation?**

 **My Answer: Sleep, eat, and waste my time watching movies and YouTube videos I've already seen like 8 times before.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Heyo lovelies! Have another chapter!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the Scorch Trials. Or a house. Or a cat. I have a dog though. So that's cool.**

At 5 am sharp, beeps sounded from around the room. I sat up in bed, stretching my arms above my head, a cold nervousness eating at my gut. Most of the Gladers, myself included, took turns taking showers; who knows how long it would be before we could take another one.

10 minutes to the hour, every Glader gathered with their sheet packs containing food, clothes, and water in the common area, in front of the wall Rat Man said the Flat Trans was meant to appear.

I sat next to Newt, our packs on the ground beside us and my machete strapped to my hip, both of us silent as the Gladers whispered around us. A few minutes later, Minho stood up to address the group. He paused, surveying the room, eyes fixing momentarily on me. I tilted my chin down in a tiny nod of encouragement. Minho took a small breath, his face morphing into complete seriousness.

"Three more minutes until 6," Minho said. "Everyone still sure they want to go?"

I nodded, and so did most others around me.

"Nobody change their minds overnight?" Minho persisted, eyes on all the Gladers who hadn't nodded the first time. "Speak now or never. Once we start moving through whatever I don't want to have to deal with any sissy pants trying to turn back. Any shank who does will do so with a broken nose and smashed privates."

Next to me, Newt put his forehead in his palm and groaned. Minho's stern gaze snapped to the blond Glader.

"Newt, you got a problem?"

Newt seemed surprised, as did a few others. "Um…no. Just admiring your bloody leadership skills."

The Asian Runner leaned over to put his tattoo on display. "What does that say?"

Newt's face flushed pink. "We all know you're the leader, Minho. Slim it."

"No, you slim it." Minho straightened up, and I couldn't stop the corners of my mouth from quirking up in a proud smile. Newt wasn't actually trying to challenge Minho's position in charge, but shutting him down made it clear that Minho was the unquestioned leader. "We don't have time for that klunk. So shut it."

"It's six!" A Glader shouted from the back of the room. Sure enough, as if brought on by the boy's words, a large part of the wall shimmered and turned grey, leaving what looked like a wall of semi-solid grey mist. The Flat Trans, I could only assume.

"Come on!" Minho called, throwing his pack over his shoulder. "We've got five minutes, so no time to mess about. I'll go first," he pointed to Thomas. "Thomas, you go last. Make sure everyone gets though."

He turned and walked up to the Flat Trans. He paused, calling, "See you shanks on the other side," before stepping into the grey mist, the murkiness swallowing him whole, and then he was gone.

As the first few Gladers filed through the Flat Trans after Minho, Newt turned to me and said, "Nice job, by the way."

At my confused look, the blond Glader nodded to the Flat Trans, and I realized he was talking about Minho. "What? No, I didn't do anything. Minho had it in him the whole time."

"Oh, I know that," Newt hummed in agreement. "I wouldn't have asked him to be in charge if I didn't know that Minho's a natural leader. Thing is, Minho doesn't see it. But whatever you buggin' said to him, he sees it now."

"I just gave him a little push," I insisted.

Newt sighed in exasperation. "That's not the point, Blondie," he rolled his eyes. "You don't think _I've_ been tryin' to push him like that for two bloody years? My _point_ is," he paused. "Minho values you, more than you know. Maybe even more than he knows."

"I…I don't…" My cheeks warmed, unable to think of a reply.

Newt seemed amused by my lack of a coherent response. "I've known Minho for a long time. As long as I've known bloody anybody, 'sides Alby. There's somethin' different about him, since you got here. Nothin' huge, just…little things. And he's important to you."

"You're all important to me," I muttered my usual justification, avoiding the boy's charcoal eyes, which glinted knowingly.

"Nah, it's different," Newt said. "I recognize the way you look at him. It's not the same."

I stood there, and though I'd like to say I retorted something witty and scathing, instead I just gaped at him like a fish. My only thought was, _oh shuck he's right._ It was then that I realized that it was now only Newt, Thomas, Aris, and I left in the room. Aris shuffled though the Flat Trans at Thomas's prompting, and Newt followed closely on his heels.

"Go on," Thomas waved me forwards. "I'm last."

I nodded and walked through the strange grey mist. For a second, I felt like I had been doused in cold water, the murky substance like ice on my skin. Then, it was gone, and I was on the other side.

The first thing I noticed is that it was dark, utterly so. Also, I got the feeling it wasn't just me, that no one was able to see their hand in front of their…

The second thing I noticed is that my fingers were glowing. The blue glow had spread down to the knuckles of my fingers and stopped, bight as ever. It wasn't enough to see by, not by a long shot, but I could have cried in relief anyways. _Did this mean my glow could come back fully?_

"Ghost, is that light you?" I heard Minho's voice from up ahead.

"Yeah," I called back. "My fingers are glowing, but nothing else."

"We're in a line. Follow it up here," the runner replied. "Might be able to see something."

"Okay," I said, moving forward slowly. Now that I had to move, my heart rate picked up again. "Keep talking so I know where you are."

Suddenly, a new voice that wasn't Minho's called out from behind us.

"Hey, you guys—" the voice was cut off by a thud, undoubtedly of people running into each other, followed by annoyed grumbling.

"Hey! Everybody shut up and stand still!" Minho yelled, voice echoing off the walls of wherever we were, making me wince a bit at the volume. I moved forwards towards his voice. My skin prickled at the chill in the space. "Thomas, is that you? Are you here?"

"Yes, it's me!" Thomas called back. "I was the last one. Is everyone here?"

"Think so. We were lining up and counting off before you smashed through like a drunken bull. Let's go again. One!"

"Two!" cried Thomas followed by Newt, who said three. When no one made to speak next, I cried, "Four!"

The counting continued, and my tension was eased by a degree with every familiar voice I heard. Aris finished with 21. Suddenly, as I was walking slowly along, a hand reached out and caught my wrist. A strained sound of panic escaped my lips.

"Ghost, it's me," Minho's voice said quietly from right next to me. He guided my hands out in front of us. "Can you see anything?"

"My fingers, nothing else," I replied. "Can you see anything?"

"Sort of. I can't see far, but if you keep one hand out while we walk I'll be able to see anything right in front of us. No need to break our faces running into walls."

"Sounds like a plan," I said, sounding far more at ease then I felt. Normally, being near Minho might have helped calm me down, but Newt's words were still rattling around in my head, shaking me up. _Damn him_.

"Alright," Minho called to the Gladers behind us. "From what I can tell, we're in a hallway. There are walls on either side of us. Thomas, behind you is where we came in. Everyone come forwards towards my voice. Last thing we need is to be falling back through the Flat Trans thingamajig. We'll go forward."

I kept my hands held out in front of me as we all began to shuffle forward. Minho kept his hand on my shoulder as we walked, the warmth of his skin contrasting with the chilly space, both grounding me and driving me crazy. Again, some childish part of me blamed Newt, for bringing my attention to the…dangerous nature of my feelings towards Minho. Even if I did like him…romantically, we hardly lived the life for it. Either one of us could both be dead any moment.

 _Yes,_ I assured myself firmly. _Best not to dwell on it._

I heard Minho open his mouth. Cutting him off, I whispered, "Minho, I swear, if you make a joke about flashlights…"

I let the threat hang. Minho chuckled softly. "I was actually going to make a joke about batteries, but close enough I guess."

I managed a small snort in return.

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, never moving left or right. The air was stagnant and stale, and cold besides. It felt suffocating. The blackness felt like it was crushing me. I had to fight to keep my breathing normal.

"Are you okay?" Minho whispered.

"Yeah," I managed. "I'm—"

That was when I heard it. A cold whisper, slipping through the tunnel like it was wind. I could tell it was saying something, but it was too quiet for even me to discern.

"I heard something," I said to Minho, who called for everyone to stop.

"What was it, Ghost?" He asked.

"Whispering," I replied, looking around on instinct, even though the only thing I was able to make out in the dark were my glowing fingers. "Someone was saying something. Not one of us."

"Everyone listen," Minho commanded. "See if you can hear anything."

I closed my eyes and focused on expanding my hearing, everything kicking up a few notches. For almost a minute, I only heard the breathing of all the Gladers, amplified by my abilities, until the whisper came again. My blood turned to ice.

Mutterings broke out through the Gladers, and I could tell they heard it too, this time.

"Did anybody get what it said?" Newt called.

"Couple words. Sounded like it said 'go back' right in the middle." Frypan spoke up.

"It did," I agreed. "And that's not all. It said-"

Before I could relay the voice's chilling message, it sounded again, this time clear as a bell for all to hear.

 _One-chance deal. Go back now, and you won't be sliced._

The chilling message caused uproar of responses from the Gladers. Some seemed to want to head the voice's warning, while others wanted to keep going forward.

"Just keep going! I can't take this much longer." Thomas's voice carried from the back of the line, and frankly I couldn't have agreed more. "Let's just go!"

"Wait a second," Frypan protested. "The voice said we only get one chance."

"Yeah, maybe we should go back," came a voice I didn't recognize.

"We can't," I said. "Remember what that rat faced guy said? We'll die horrible deaths if we don't go through with this."

"What makes him know better than the whispering dude?" Frypan shot back. "How do we know who to trust?"

"It's probably a test," Thomas said. "We need to keep going."

"Thomas and Ghost are right," Minho said. "Let's keep moving."

No sooner has he said that then the whispering came again. _You'll all be sliced. Dead and sliced._ I half expected more protests, wanting to go back, but no one said a word as we resumed walking forward.

The further we walked, the warmer the air in the tunnel became. There was more dust in the air, and my throat was dry, but we didn't have a ton of water to be wasting. There must have been two or three miles we'd walked since we last heard the voice.

 _I wonder if the rising temperature means we're getting closer to the surface?_ I wondered, and then relayed this thought to Minho.

That was when the screaming started.

It started out as a shriek of surprise, but then the boy continued to scream, this time in terror. If it was someone I knew, I couldn't tell. From the sounds against the ground, the boy was thrashing on the floor.

"Hey! What's wrong with you?" That was Thomas's voice. It was soon joined by a myriad of others as everyone crowded around where the screams were coming from, all looking for answers. "Stop it! What's wrong?"

The screeching cut to an abrupt stop, replaced by faint gurgling sounds, and then silence. There was a metallic rolling sound. Minho shouted for everyone to be still. I held my hands out for Minho to be able to see, and I heard the dark-haired runner reach out and grab someone.

"Thomas! What happened?"

"I don't…know. Who was that?"

"Frankie, I think." Winston's voice. "He was walking right next to me. He was in the middle of saying something, then it was like he was ripped away."

"What happened?" Minho asked again.

A shaky inhale, then Thomas said, "Look, I heard him screaming, and came up here to help. I tried to pin his arms down, and find out what was wrong. I reached for his head and…and…I felt…"

"What?" Minho demanded.

"His head wasn't a head," Thomas groaned. "It was a big…metal ball. I don't know, dude, but that's what it felt like. Like his shuck head had been… _swallowed_ by it. It was covered in blood."

"Take me to the body." I announced, and then was startled by my own request. I really had no desire to see this, but we had to.

"You heard her," Minho said. Then, to Thomas. "What're you on about?"

I felt a large hand close gently around my outstretched wrist, guiding me forward.

"He's over here," the hand's owner said quietly. Clint. We took a few steps forward, the crowd of boys parting on either side, and crouched down next to the boy's body. I found that if I leaned close enough, the light from my fingers was just enough for me to see something. Still, I didn't really feel like putting my face a mere few inches away from a potentially headless body.

Swallowing my disgust, I moved my fingers upwards until I found where his head should have been. Sure enough, right under where my fingers hovered was a stump that should've been the base of the boy's neck. The cut was clean, remarkably so. Bile rose in my throat.

"Yep," I coughed, standing up. Wiping my fingers on my pants even though I never actually touched the body. "Head's gone. Sliced clean through the neck."

"Jesus," Minho muttered under his breath, inaudible to all but me.

"Think I found that bloody ball you were talkin' about, Tommy," Newt's voice called. "I heard it roll over here. It's all sticky—definitely feels like blood."

"What the shuck," Minho half whispered, amongst a chorus of murmurs and questions. "How big is it?"

"Everybody slim it!" Newt demanded to the chattering Gladers. "I don't know. Bigger than a buggin' head, and perfectly round."

"We need to run," Thomas said, and I started shuffling in the direction of his voice. "We need to go. Now."

"Maybe we should go back. That thing sliced off Frankie's head." A voice I didn't have a name for said. "Just like the whispering shank said."

"No way. No, we run," Minho ordered. "Thomas is right. We can't stay here. Everyone spread out, hunch down, and run. If anything comes near your head, bat the klunk out of it."

No one argued. I held my hand out. "Minho," I said, and then felt his fingers around my wrist. I moved closer, and said quietly, as the Gladers spread out and prepared to run. "I don't know if I can run like this."

"You have to," he whispered back. His fingers slid down my wrist to lace with mine. "Ghost. Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Then run." He pulled me forward, not letting go of my hand, and we ran.

My heart pounded in my chest as we ran, my head spinning. Not being able to see, where I was going, where my feet were falling, _anything_ was really getting to my head. More than once, I almost stumbled on nothing, on barriers that only existed in my head. Minho kept me forward, and I gripped his hand so tightly it must have been painful.

 _Why is this so hard?_ I bemoaned to myself. My tongue and throat were dry, both from thirst and anxiety. _Running is what I do._

We kept running. The death spheres claimed on more person. I knew before it happened; could hear the sliding of metal on metal on the ceiling, then a whoosh of something flying through the air. Then came the screaming.

No one stopped. And maybe we're terrible for it, but what could we do? We ran.

Suddenly, Minho released my hand and pushed me backwards. He groaned in pain. "Everyone stop!"

"What happened?" I asked, moving forward on my knees until my hand made contact with his shirt.

"Ugh. I almost broke my shins on something, that's what," he replied. I helped him back to his feet. "I think they're stairs."

"Well, let's go up 'em!" Frypan called, absurdly cheerful given the situation.

"What would we do without you, Frypan?" Minho replied, and I could practically hear the eye roll. "Let's go."

Minho started up the stairs, and I followed him. Almost as an afterthought, I stretched one hand upwards, feeling for the top, and the other hand in front of me. The other Gladers filed after, and we ran for almost a minute before I felt something solid above my outstretched hand. A roof.

"Minho, stop!" I cried out.

"Ow!"

 _Too late_ , I winced.

"You okay?" Newt asked, a few steps below us. "What'd you hit?"

"The shuck top," Minho replied, sounding irritated. "Coulda used that warning a couple seconds sooner."

I crossed my arms, raising an eyebrow even though he couldn't see it. "Not my fault you need to work on your listening ears."

"Yeah, okay," he said, and I heard his hands feeling around above us. "It's just a roof, there's nothing…" he trailed off. "Wait, I think I found…"

There was a click, and then suddenly everything went white. I cried out and covered my eyes, every single Glader doing the same as white-hot light flooded the corridor, coming from the hatch Minho had opened. It only lasted for a second, before Minho released the hatch and it clicked shut. Everyone took a few seconds to recover.

"Shuck it," Minho cursed. "I found our way out, but I think we're on the freakin' sun! Damn, that was bright. And hot."

"Let's crack it open, let our eyes get used to it," Newt suggested, his voice getting closer as he moved towards Minho and I. "Here's a couple shirts—wedge 'em in there for now. Everybody shut your eyes!"

I pressed my palms over my eyes, and even then I could still tell when they got the hatch open again, more because of the rush of hot air than the light. After a few seconds, I lowered my hands, and a few seconds later, slowly blinked my eyes open.

Everyone winced at the light, but I felt a huge swell of relief at being able to see again, the glow of my fingers fading, no longer necessary. I studied our surroundings. The stairs, the walls, and the roof were all made of a slate grey metal. The stairs descended back down into the darkness of the corridor. The outside door was slanted downwards, not quite reaching the ground but not on the ceiling either.

"I feel like my eyeballs are roasted marshmallows," Minho said, rubbing his eyes. "Anybody blind now?"

"No more than usual," I replied, getting a few chuckles.

"What's out there?" Thomas asked. My eyes followed the sound of his voice. He stood maybe ten or fifteen steps down from us. His brown eyes looked up at us curiously.

"Can't tell," Minho replied. "There's just a lot of bright light. Maybe we are on the shuck sun. But I don't see any people, or Cranks."

"Well, lets go up there," Winston said. The acne-covered boy was further down than Thomas, at the back of the group. "I'd rather get a sunburn than get my head eaten by eaten by some ball of steel. Let's go!"

"Keep your undies on, Winston," Minho said. "Just wanted to make sure our eyes were adjusted. I'm gonna throw the door all the way open now. One, two, three!"

Minho grunted as he heaved the door open all the way. A great rush of heat warmed the corridor like an oven. After only a few seconds of standing in the square of light from the surface, my skin began to hurt. I jumped back, scrambling out of the direct light. Minho and Newt did the same.

"Ah, man!" Minho exclaimed. "Something's wrong."

"It feels like my skin is already starting to burn," I agreed. "It's way too intense."

"They're right," Newt rubbed his neck and squinted at the opening. "I don't know if we can go out there. Might have to wait until the bloody sun goes down."

As much as I didn't want to stay in this corridor any longer than we have to, I agreed with Newt. It didn't seem possible to go out there uncovered without getting second-degree sunburns within an hour.

"And that's being optimistic," I said when I relayed this to Newt and Minho. "We might just get hyperthermia and die."

"Isn't hyperthermia when you freeze?" A boy behind us asked, confused. I shook my head.

"That's _hypo_ thermia. Too little heat. _Hyper_ thermia is overheating." I explained.

Suddenly, a metallic scraping sound caught my attention. _Oh no,_ I thought, dread filling me.

"Whoa!" Winston cried out, pointing upwards. "Watch out, watch out!"

Where the boy was pointing, it looked like a portion of the ceiling was melting, gathering into a large drop of molten metal. Before anyone had time to react, the metal glob separated from the ceiling and flew straight at the Gladers.

 **More to come soon. Very soon. *evil laugh***

 **Question of the Day: What is your dream job?**

 **My Answer: Ideally, a career author, but I'd also love to work as a graphic designer or a tattoo artist!**


	6. Chapter 6

**When writing the first scene of this, I wanted to make a joke about 'death metal', but decided that this is a serious situation and also I'm not funny.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the Scorch Trials. This is my idea of fun.**

The viscous sphere flew directly at the Gladers, latching onto Winston's head. The boy screamed, falling and tumbling down several steps. Thomas raced after him.

"Get it off me!" Winston shrieked, tugging at the metal that had latched to the top of his head and was slowly moving down to his ears. Thomas knelt at Winston's side, and I grabbed my pack and started down the steps, weaving through the group to get to Thomas and Winston, but they were still a ways away.

"Thomas!" I shouted as I pushed through two boys. "Wrap your hands! Don't touch it with bare skin!"

Thomas nodded, unwrapping his bed sheet pack and using the cloth to cover his hands. As Winston struggled with the molten metal approaching his eyes, Thomas stuck his hands into it right above Winston's ears, tugging upwards. It gave a few inches, but immediately started back down again. Other Gladers tried to approach them, but Thomas shouted for them to get away.

Finally, I reached them, falling to my knees beside Thomas. Up close, Winston was a gruesome sight. It looked like the liquid metal was eating his flesh. I couldn't imagine the pain.

"Winston," Thomas cried to the screaming Glader. "We have to do it together! Okay?"

"Thomas, Winston! Listen, push up on the count of three!" I snapped firmly, in a commanding voice I didn't know I had. The boy still thrashed, but slowed ever so slightly, which as I took as a sign of his understanding. "One, two, _three!_ "

Thomas and Winston both pushed at my signal, and there was a brief sucking sound, before the ball released itself from Winston's head. Grunting in pain, Thomas threw it and the sheet it was sticking to down the stairs.

As the ball went flying, it stopped in midair briefly, hovering, like it was contemplating coming back for the kill. Then, it solidified and rolled down the stairs with a loud clanking sound.

Thomas leaned on the wall, gasping for breath and cradling his hands to his chest. _Deal with him later,_ I thought, turning to Winston, who was hunched over on the ground.

It took a lot of willpower not to gag. From his ears up, the boy's skin was a mess of blood and raw flesh. It almost looked like a burn. All of his hair was gone, and I doubted it would ever grow back. Thankfully, his eyes had been spared, as had everything below it. It was gruesome, but he'd live. _Well, if any of us live to the end of this,_ I mused morbidly. I knew the rest of the Gladers were staring like deer in the headlights, but I paid them no mind.

"Winston, can you hear me?" I asked. The metal might have damaged his ears in a more internal way. Thankfully, the Glader nodded jerkily. _At least he can still hear._

I opened my pack and pulled out a few wider strips of makeshift bandages. I sighed to myself, wishing we had some proper medical supplies. This wound could do with some burn salve or something similar. I heard footsteps from behind me, and Clint kneeled next to me. "What's the damage?" he asked.

"External," I said. "Thankfully. It looks clean too, so no need to use water to clean it up. We need to save that as much as possible."

"We should wrap it, though," Clint said, helping me with the bandages, and I nodded. "Keep klunk from getting in it."

As Clint and I bandaged the whimpering Glader's head, Minho's voice came from the group a few steps up.

"What the shuck was that?" 

"Magic goop that eats people's bloody heads, that's what it was," Newt answered.

"Must be some new technology," Aris said, more to himself than to anyone else. "My memories are…patchy, but I know the world has some pretty advanced stuff."

"Advanced meaning face-eating?" Minho said, incredulous. "Nice. That's real nice."

"Did you see?" Frypan said. "That stuff came from the ceiling. We need to leave."

"Agreed," Newt said.

There was a moment of silence as Clint and I finished wrapping Winston's exposed wounds. I nodded to Minho, signaling we were done, and he addressed the group.

"Frypan, Jack! You two watch Winston. Aris, pick up the klunk he dropped and split it in people's packs. I don't care how bright or hot it is. I'm not in the mood to have my head turned into a bowling ball today."

As Frypan and Jack approached to take Winston, I moved over to Thomas.

"Lemme see your hands," I said, indicating the appendages still cupped to his chest.

"I'm fine, Ghost, really—"

"Hands. Now," I said in a tone that booked no room for argument. Thomas held his hands out. They were red, and his fingers a little raw, almost blistered, but otherwise okay.

"Looks like the sheet guarded you from most of the damage," I said. "I could still probably wrap them to keep them clean, but as long as you're a little extra careful it should be fine."

"Thanks Ghost," he nodded as we climbed the stairs. "I'll just keep an eye on it."

"Okay. But if it starts turning colors, you come get me."

"Yes ma'am."

"Thomas, Ghost!" Minho called from the top. "Get up here! You, me, and Newt are going up first."

When we reached the top, we all avoided the square of direct light. Minho stretched his hand out and stuck it in the light. The boy had a fairly dark olive complexion, but even still his skin seemed to glow white in the sun. After only a few seconds he jerked it back, shaking it in the air.

"Shuck it, that's hot," he cursed, brow scrunched up in pain. "We need something to cover ourselves with if we want to even try going out there."

"Empty your packs," Newt suggested, putting his on the floor and proceeding to do so. "We can cover ourselves with the sheets. If it works we can put all the food and water in half the sheets, and use the other half for protection."

Minho and I followed Newt's lead, emptying our packs onto the floor. Thomas, who'd already emptied his when helping Winston, wrapped his around his shoulders.

"We can look like ghosts—scare away any bad guys out there."

Unable to tell if he was joking or not, I raised my eyebrows at him. From the corner of my eye, I saw Minho give him a baffled look.

"I assure you, you look nothing like me," I said, mouth quirking up in the corner. Thomas rolled his eyes.

"Ha, ha. Self-referring puns aren't funny, Ghost."

"And neither are you," I said, throwing my sheet around my shoulders and pulling the back up to cover my head. "No one here is funny."

"I am," Minho put in. Both he and Newt had covered themselves as well. "I'm the master of comedy."

I rolled my eyes, and Thomas pulled the back of his sheet up to cover his head and part of his face. "How do I look?"

"Like the ugliest shanky girl I've ever seen," Minho said. "You'd better thank whatever gods exist you were born a dude."

"Seen a lotta girls, have you?"

"Don't have to to know you'd be an ugly one."

"Gee, thanks."

The four of us filed out of the slanted doorway into the blazing landscape. The moment I stepped out into open air, the heat felt like a punch to the chest, sucking all the air from my lungs and any remaining moisture from my mouth. I spent several seconds with my hands pressed against my chest, trying to force oxygen back into my lungs.

I recovered first, probably due to my slightly more advanced stamina. Minho, a Runner, and Newt, a former Runner, were quick to follow, both breathing heavily. Thomas struggled the most, dropping to his knees and squeezing his eyes shut, gasping fruitlessly for breath for almost 30 seconds.

"Hey," I said, crouching down in front of him. His breaths were finally starting to even out. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he choked, his voice raspy and strained. Hand still covered by my sheet, I helped him to his feet.

"Pretty sure we just arrived in bloody hell," Newt said. "Always thought you'd end up here, Minho, but not me."

"Good that," Minho said, turning in slow circles, examining the ruined landscape. "My eyes hurt, but I think I'm getting used to the light. Kinda."

Looking around, I decided Newt might not be too far off the mark. The ground was cracked and dusty and a lifeless greyish-brown. There was not a single living thing in sight on the flat landscape, no trees or bushes or grass. The sky was pale blue and cloudless.

However, on the horizon was a cluster of jagged mountains. In front of them, maybe half the distance between the mountains and us was a group of squat, weathered grey buildings. The sun was dipping lower in the sky in the West. A quick run through of the directions confirmed that the mountains were indeed due north. That was where we needed to go.

"How far is the city?" Newt asked.

"Is that 100 miles?" Thomas spoke up. "Its definitely north."

I shook my head. "No way. They're not even half that."

"Yeah, looks more like 30 or 40 miles to me," Minho agreed. "The mountains maybe 60 or 70."

"Didn't realize you could measure distance so well with your bloody eyeballs," Newt muttered. Minho rolled his eyes.

"I'm a Runner, shuck-face," he shot back. "You get a feel for klunk like that, even if the maze was smaller scale."

"Looks like a nuclear holocaust out here," Thomas murmured, not listening. "I wonder if the whole world is like this."

"Bloody hope not," Newt said, glancing around again. "Don't see how anybody would be alive if it were."

"Let's focus on keeping us alive right now," Minho said. "We need to get those shanks out here and get moving."

"Maybe we outta wait till sundown," Newt suggested, shading his eyes with his sheet as he observed the sun. It was pure white, and seemed bigger and hotter than the one in the Glade. _Then again,_ I reminded myself. _The Maze was underground. That sun was a fake._

"And get our heads eaten? No way." I shook my head. Then, I followed Newt's gaze. It should only be a couple more hours until the sun went down.

"We can tough it out for a couple hours," Thomas suggested. "Rest a couple hours, then travel as far as we can during the night."

Minho nodded firmly. "Sounds like a plan." Then, without another word, he turned to the Gladers still in the tunnel. "Hey! You sissy, no-good shanks grab the food and get out here!"

I rolled my eyes when no one was looking, but again, was proud of him anyways. Minho had really stepped up to the plate, just like I'd known he could. I felt a fond fluttering in my chest, and promptly shut down that line of thinking before it could become…dangerous.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After all the Gladers had caught their breaths and adjusted to the heat, we split the food into half the sheets, using the free ones to shield two people each as we walked. I found myself walking with Clint, who carried the pack in one hands and held up one end of the sheet with the other. I held up my end of the sheet, my other hand free, and after a while we'd switch so that I carried the food.

We walked mostly in silence, suffocated by the sweltering heat I was slowly growing accustomed to. My eyes felt dry, and I reached up to rub them often. I couldn't tell if it was from the dust, the heat, or the glaring landscape that hurt my eyes to look at. Everything was just so…lifeless.

"Scorched earth policy," I murmured, mostly to myself. Clint's wandering gaze snapped to me.

"Huh?"

"I dunno. I just thought of it."

He rolled his eyes a bit. "Yeah, I figured. You do that sometimes, kid. But what does it _mean_?"

"It was a battle strategy a long time ago. If an army was losing ground, they would burn the land and slaughter all the livestock as they made their retreat, to starve the enemy when they advanced." I blinked, knocking myself out of my trance-like state. "This…everything destroyed and dead…just made it come to mind, I guess."

Clint just shook his head with a small chuckle. "You're somethin' else, kiddo." He said fondly.

"Thanks, I think."

A few more minutes lapsed in silence before either of us spoke again.

"So, in your metaphor, are we the retreating ones?"

"Hm? Oh," I thought about it for a moment. "No. If anything, we'd be the invaders. Starved by the landscape."

"Well that's a happy thought," he said. "Kinda like the idea of us being the invaders though."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Feels like winning."

I huffed a small laugh. "I guess so."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was Frypan who noticed the runners first. My attention was grabbed by the former Glade cook pointing into the distance and shouting about 'company'.

Two figures ran towards us at top speed. It looked like they had come from the city. As they got closer, I could see that each of them was covered head to toe in strips of hastily stitched cloth, covering them from the sun. They looked like mummies.

"Everyone pack in tight!" Minho ordered, holding a hand out to signal us to stop. "Get ready to fight at the first sign of trouble."

My free hand went to the handle of my machete. _No need to get it out just yet,_ I thought to myself as I moved to the front of the group. I stood just behind Minho, slightly to his left, like a bodyguard. My hand stayed on the handle of my machete as the two runners reached us, not a threat necessarily, but a warning.

"Who are you?" Minho called out, as the two figures stopped a couple yards away, doubling over and gasping for breath. When they didn't reply, he repeated the question.

The two runners didn't answer at first, splitting up to move slowly in an arc, circling the Gladers. I clenched my hand on the handle of my weapon, trying to keep an eye on both of them at once. One runner spoke.

"We're Cranks," the first runner, a woman, said, her voice gruff and scratchy. I might not have known she was a woman if it wasn't for her curvier figure. Her partner, a man, remained silent.

"Cranks? Like the ones who tried to break into our building?"

Though I hadn't actually been present (or conscious) for that event, I could imagine it was grisly if the Cranks then had been anything like that woman by the bus.

"We're Cranks," repeated the man. "Came to see if you're Cranks too. See if you got the flare."

"Some dude told us we had it, yeah," Minho replied. "What about it?"

"Don't matter," the man said. "You got it, you'll know soon enough."

Newt came up to stand on Minho's other side. "What do you bloody want? What's it matter if we're Cranks or not?"

The woman spoke again, ignoring Newt's question completely. "Where'd you come from? How'd you get to the Scorch?"

"What should we tell them?" Minho whispered to Newt, Thomas and I. Thomas shrugged.

"The truth, I guess."

"The truth? As usual, Thomas, you're freaking brilliant." Despite Minho's sarcastic remark, he proceeded to do just that, explaining that we'd come from WICKED, and were supposed to travel 100 miles north to a safe place. "That mean anything to you?"

"Not all Cranks are past the Gone," the man remarked, as if Minho hadn't spoken. It made me uneasy, how he said 'gone' like it was a place. "Different Cranks at different levels. Learn who to trust, learn who to kill, if you come our way."

"What's your way? That city?" Minho inquired. "Is it full of Cranks? Is there supplies?"

The two self-confessed Cranks finished their wide circle around the Gladers, meeting up where they'd started.

"If you don't have it yet, you will soon," the woman warned. "Same with the other group. The one that's supposed to kill you."

Leaving their macabre advice and ominous warnings behind, the two runners turned around and ran back towards the city from whence they came. The Gladers stood for a few second in stunned silence.

"Other group?" came a voice.

"I wonder if they mean my group," Aris said.

"Group B?"

"Maybe it's another group, a new one. Ghost's group, maybe?"

"No, I told you," I said. "Whatever Group C was, it wasn't a maze. If it was, how the shuck would I have ended up with your asses?"

"Who cares?" Minho snapped. "What about the 'supposed to kill us' thing? Or this klunk about the Flare. That seems a smidge more like an attention getter."

An odd look crossed Thomas's face that immediately made me wary, and he rubbed his neck. _His tattoo,_ I realized. _The one that said he would be killed_. "Maybe when she said 'you' she didn't mean _all_ of you. Maybe she just meant me."

From the look on his face, I could see that Minho had come to the same realization as me. "It doesn't matter," he asserted. "Someone comes after you, or me, or any of us, they come after all of us. Understood?"

Thomas nodded.

"So what now?" Jack asked. He had one of Winston's arms slung over his shoulder, helping him along. The injured boy, however, seemed to be regaining some of his strength.

"We keep going," Minho said. "Cranks or no, we need to reach that city. Not just 'cuz WICKED asked so nicely, but because we'll be runnin' out of food and water soon. We'll die out here for sure if we run out."

"What about Group B?" Thomas persisted. "Or whoever's trying to kill us. We supposed to fight them with our bare hands?"

Minho flexed his arm. "If they really are the girls Aris lived with, I'll just show 'em these guns of mine and they'll go running."

"And if they have weapons? And know how to fight? Or if it's a whole horde of Cranks? What then?"

"Thomas…no. Everybody slim it." Minho sighed, exasperated. "No more questions. Unless anyone has an idea that doesn't involve certain doom, we're gonna shut up and take the only chance we have got. Get me?"

Thomas, for the first time in a while, it seemed, smiled. "Okay."

Minho looked satisfied. "Good. Anyone else wanna pee their pants and cry for mommy?"

A few chuckles sounded from the group, and I shook my head slightly to hide my own amused smile. Both boys had valid points. Thomas was right, we were up against impossible odds; outnumbered, if Aris's word was good, potentially outgunned, and definitely at a disadvantage when it came to the Crank City. But Minho was right too. What other choice did we have? Lie down out here and die? No.

"Fight till the end," I said, loud enough for Minho to hear me. He nodded.

"Alright, Newt, you lead this time, limp and all. Thomas, you head up the rear." Minho commanded. "Jack, hand Winston off to someone else. We rest for a few more minutes, then head out."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Once darkness fell, I had to be led. Minho handed me a couple extra shirts and told me to wrap my hands. Though I wasn't enthusiastic about the concept, I understood the reason behind it. The glow from my hands would only attract unnecessary attention. It wasn't like they were actually helping me to see anything; the glow had spread, but it still only reached partway down my palms.

As we ran through the night, Newt's hand hooked around my elbow to help guide me. In the distance, I heard a high pitch sound. It almost sounded like…screaming.

I halted in my tracks, pulling Newt to a stop with me. I heard footsteps running up to us.

"Ghost, Newt," Minho's voice called. "What's wrong?"

"I heard something," I said, glancing around out of habit, even thought all I saw was darkness. "Out that way." I pointed in the general direction I'd heard the sound. "Am I pointing at the city?"

"Yeah," Newt said. "What did you hear?"

"It sounded like—" I cut off abruptly as the screaming sounded again. It was louder this time, and it was definitely a person, a woman, to be exact. It sounded raw and tortured; a scream of pain. I'd only ever heard one thing like it.

"Oh," Newt said, a strange hollow quality to his voice. "I hear it now."

"Me too," Minho said. His voice was colored just slightly with fear. "You know what that reminds me of?"

"Me?" I heard Thomas's voice a couple yards away, and getting closer. "Alby? Ben?"

"The Changing," I finished, shivering slightly at the memory of Thomas, his skin white and his veins green, after he'd been stung and gone through the grueling process to recover memories.

"Exactly," Minho said, a little breathless.

"Oh no," Frypan groaned from somewhere to my left. "Don't tell me they're out here too?"

"No," Newt said. "Remember how much moisture was on their bodies? They'd turn to dust and melt out here."

"Maybe it's something new," Thomas suggested darkly. "Some new creature to torment us."

"And again, Thomas raises all our spirits with a cheerful pep talk," Frypan said. It was clearly meant to be a joke, but his voice was strained by dread.

"Just saying how it is."

"I know. _How it is_ sucks."

"What now?" I asked.

"We should take a break," Minho said. "Eat and drink some, rest up, and keep moving."

"And the screaming lady?" Frypan prompted.

"She sounds plenty busy with her own issues. Let's eat."

 **Review and let me know what you thought of this chapter. I found this great song I listened to while writing this one, by a YouTube artist named Shelby Merry, and it's called "The Scorch". She has another one for the first book that's great too. Check her out, she's very talented!**

 **Question of the Day: Are you a morning person or a night owl?**

 **My answer: I think if you looked at the time I post these chapters, you can clearly see I'm a night owl, all the way.**


End file.
